


metronome

by deadbeatfreak99



Category: Crush (Musician), Zion.t (Musician)
Genre: Crushes, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, an excuse to write about these two dorks who are my dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-11-25 21:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20919209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadbeatfreak99/pseuds/deadbeatfreak99
Summary: ❝Is this the sound of the metronome that ticks to the beat of our birth?❞《In which Hyoseob has big dreams and Haesol becomes a part of them.》





	1. o̶n̶e̶

**Author's Note:**

> behold, the first complete multichaptered crush.t fic to exist. im kind of proud about that, stupid ik
> 
> originally completed on wattpad 19/05/19
> 
> spotify playlist link: https://open.spotify.com/user/ltmv1akncmgjlstc4y6lcnhit/playlist/3dUT3E38QpFeUQA6OKCShL?si=csn5wd4tTtut29FkH1GpZw

Something was ticking. Incessant, constant, a soft noise that consistently grew louder the more time passed.

Was it perhaps a bomb?

No, it was echoing within his heated ears, pulsating through his countless veins, twitching beneath his skin. A heartbeat.

Haesol was a man who loved love, dreamt of it and admired it, and with nimble fingers he'd scribble words of poetry dedicated to it, each letter sharp and neat, mimicking the shapes of musical notes as if knowing from the instant they were written that they would be sung.

Over-sized suit jackets and black fedoras, thick-framed circular glasses with tinted lenses, and gleaming dress shoes ending in a near point; he was a man who seemed to have stepped out of a 50's noir novel, elegant but strange for his modern time. Haesol lived life as if he were on a movie set, seeing the world through the dark shades he perched upon his slightly hooked nose and carrying himself with an air of confidence which was capable of provoking intimidation.

He was a man of a few words and equally few friends, for off the stage he had made his life into, and stripped of his persona, Haesol was timid and introverted, a dreamer of finding those emotions he himself described in his songs yet never got to experience.

But no, that was the him from years ago, now lost in the past on some distant shelf, finely coated in a light layer of dust though still existent in the library of his mind.

Haesol had changed now, grown, learnt new things and experienced what he wanted to so hungrily, and it was thanks to that one meeting, beneath the delicate fall of rain and made eerie by the settling darkness of the night, that he was able to do so.

That ever-present sound was still there, pestering him, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it, lest his heart itself stopped beating, and he sincerely hoped it wouldn't at a time such as that.

He hoped he wasn't too late, and he hoped the other would come, for his melodies would remain half complete, bare, without the addition of those of his love. 


	2. t̶w̶o̶

Shin Hyoseob had a goal, a dream made of beats and travelling voices, stages and cheers, applause after each performance, his words reaching thousands, perhaps more, of listeners' ears and spreading to their hearts.

Shin Hyoseob also had obstacles to overcome, however, failures piling on his back and pressure building from his family for not yet having a secure occupation, then that he was an adult.

Being a singer was no easy thing to achieve, not when there was so much talent surrounding him and it seemed misfortune would not allow him to succeed in life, and yet he refused to fully surrender to such a supposed fate. Even while he began applying for run-of-the-mill jobs, he'd audition and work diligently on improving his voice, record songs until he filled a once empty CD with a decent number of them.

His parents would often grumble about him squandering so much of his time on something which would be useless in the long-run, and they'd beg him to just let go of his dream and set his feet on the ground.

_Not everyone can be a star, Hyoseob,_ his mother would say, warm palm set upon his own as her thumb delicately grazed over his skin, _There's nothing wrong with doing a regular job and besides, you don't need to completely forget about music, just spend a little less time on it. _

Hyoseob would have agreed with her had he not been so stubborn, but even while caving in and accepting offers for some bland job he knew he would never come to like, he persevered with his attempts at making it in the music industry.

It was during a long bus trip to a friend's house that he had been scrolling through online blogs until an article's title caught his eye. It mentioned a singer who had debuted just a mere year and some months ago, a rookie who acted as anything but, oozing talent and quickly rising to fame. The young man's eyes zipped through the words with intrigue, learning that said artist went by the name Zion.T and apparently had a unique voice that only made his singing more enchanting, as described by the journalist who spoke of their recent experience watching one of his performances in a late-night bar.

Hyoseob wondered if such an article would ever be written about him one day. He aspired to achieve what this fresh to the industry artist had, and while it seemed near impossible, he felt inspired.

Zion.T's performances were typically close to where he lived and the man was only some years older than him. If Hyoseob could maybe meet him, talk to him and possibly even make the man listen to one of his songs, perhaps then he could truly be told whether he should continue stubbornly working on making his dream come true, or move on with life and settle into a part-time job.

No matter what, Hyoseob had to make sure he gave it his all.


	3. t̶h̶r̶e̶e̶

Curiousity had it that soft R&B tunes poured from his headphones one silent night, when his desk lamp was the only source of light in his glum room, and his parents were watching television on the floor below.

It started with one song and then another, alternating between live covers and recorded originals, and it became a drug, entrancing, the velvety voice of this man he had not heard of until that brief article he had come across by sheer chance.

Hyoseob didn't know for how long he had stayed strewn upon his bed, ears brimming with music and eyes dazedly watching the bleak ceiling above him, his head firmly placed and sunken into his pillow as he occassionally bobbed it to the beat of the songs.

Initially, he had no clue what to expect, and then he regretted not discovering this artist sooner.

Imagine all the scenery he could have witnessed through bus windows while listening to this voice, imagine the streets he could have walked along and faces he could have seen, with such a soundtrack to his life playing in the background.

Hyoseob became Kim Haesol's － which he discovered to be Zion.T's real name － fan, and such an addition increased his desire to meet him, to have him judge his music so far and give his opinion.

It was then that Hyoseob decided he was going to definitely come into contact with this musician, who abruptly appeared so much further away, as if from a world of his own, one which Hyoseob was incapable of reaching.

And yet, the latter stored an unbridled flame of determination within his chest, and with such a determination he had managed to attend one of Zion.T's appearances a little over a month later.

It was at another bar, perhaps more lounge-like in setting, with a low stage in one corner adorned with sets of instruments, and lined with miniscule spotlights directed at the microphone stand at the centre. The location was scarcely full, with lingering customers at stools and booths, mumbling amongst themselves while Hyoseob constantly fidgeted in his seat, sipping at his beer and often stealing glances at the still unoccupied stage.

He had seen that the man he came to idolize would be performing for some time there that night, and so he had settled on finally witnessing his talent with his own senses, but he hadn't expected it to be as nerve-wrecking as it turned out to be. Hyoseob had arrived far too early, and thus had to wait while his anticipation continued to simmer within him. Every now and again, he'd slide a hand into his pocket and feel the flimsy, plastic case of the CD he had put some of his songs on, inhale a shuddered breath and stare back down into his drink.

Time ticked on and in a blink, the establishment was crowded, bustling with chatter and shuffling movements as people gathered before the stage, awaiting the artists who'd be appearing that night.

Initially, the performances felt as if they were dragging on for an eternity when they finally commenced, his heart beating ferociously against his ribs all throughout, and his palms as sweaty as they had been on his first date as a teen.

However, it was when the lights fully dimmed, the crowd fell utterly silent as if controlled by a power outside of their own, that Hyoseob's heartbeat truly became erratic. Cheers suddenly resounded within his mind but his sight was unfocused, hazy, strained on the numerous heads in front of him until drifting up to see a tall, slender figure struck by the timid light of a single bulb.

Hyoseob swallowed thickly, eyes blinking in a desperate attempt to clear his vision, and then witnessed as the man nonchalantly adjusted the microphone with his thin fingers, a couple of bulky rings glinting around three of them, head low as if there were no eager gathering of spectators waiting for him to begin at all.

The man radiated a sense of confidence without being arrogant, and when the first note was struck and floated in the air, everyone stock still and with bathed breath, Hyoseob melted into the sound of his idol's voice wafting into the silence like a whisper of wind, delicate and caressing, gradually growing in volume but maintaining its nature.

Hyoseob was utterly enraptured. He had no clue of how that journalist had been able to not simply spew words of complete praise in their article, because that was all he wished to do.

Haesol was in wide-legged trousers that stopped neatly at his ankles, a lengthy and a handful of sizes too big coat hanging over a saturated, maroon turtleneck sweater, with strongly tinted, squared sunglasses set on his nose and a fedora fitted over his dyed hair.

He couldn't help but think that the man was the embodiment of everything suave and cool, distinct and unique like his voice, and a feeling akin to that of a somersault occurred in his stomach.

Unlike the others, Zion.T's performance was over too soon, much to Hyoseob's displeasure, and he had been so transfixed by the entire experience that it nearly slipped his mind what he had originally gone there to do.

It seemed Haesol didn't plan on staying much longer, as he bid his goodnight into the microphone and gave a dip of his head prior to stepping off the stage, falling into the already re-awakening crowd.

Hyoseob panicked, beginning to struggle to see even the man's hat over the people that separated them, and began weaving his way through the sea of bodies.

"Kim Haesol!"

He didn't react to his name being called, but perhaps he hadn't heard the younger's exclamation over the ruckus of the bar.

"Zion.T! Over here! Please, wait!" Hyoseob tried again, but to no avail, the singer kept walking, his back shrinking further away and eventually out the back door until he was no longer visible.

Hyoseob was panting by the time he succeeded in breaking out of the suffocating mass of humans, though it was far too late, for while his gaze snapped in all directions, glancing the white lit street up and down, he saw no signs of the man and he knew he had lost him to the night.


	4. f̶o̶u̶r̶

Two months went by in a flurry of early mornings and tardy returns home, for Hyoseob had been hired as a receptionist at a local marketing company, forced to wear itchy, cheap suits and strangling neckties for the entirety of his workdays.

His parents were merely proud to see him earn his own money and walking out the door in fancy dress, but such a lifestyle didn't fit Hyoseob at all, and while he maintained sweet smiles and showed his first pay-check to his father with a lingering sense of accomplishment, the longing for pursuing his musical career was unchanging.

He had unfortunately not heard news about another Zion.T performance he could go to, but had discovered where the man's apartment was － seeing as how it had been listed as the location of his first studio initially and Hyoseob presumed he still resided there － and decided on waiting in the street below to possibly cross their paths.

Hyoseob was well aware that the chances were slim to none, and yet whenever he could, either on his free days or after work, he'd go to said street and wait at the corner, eyes flitting in search of the singer.

He didn't care if he came off as strange or suspicious to passers-by who eyed him with caution, nor did he pay mind to the chilly wind that nipped at his exposed skin and ruffled his once styled hair.

However, that night it seemed such conditions were not all he had to bear, for while he stood, back to the brick wall and arms folded across his chest in attempt of keeping himself warm, a gentle drizzle began to fall from the sky. Hyoseob tilted his head up only to feel a soft splash upon his cheek, and if one didn't know better, they would have assumed it to be a tear.

He sighed in dejection, wiping the drop off on his shoulder and pressing his lips into a straight line.

The few strangers around him scurried to find shelter as the rain gradually grew stronger, utterly ignoring him who stayed immobile beneath a barber shop's glowing sign, with his sight strained on the glistening tarmac of the paved road.

He wasn't sure about how much time had gone by, but it was certainly enough for him to become almost drenched, and yet perhaps it was worth it. There was a click and the sound of a drag, then the tap of the soles of shoes stepping onto the pavement, followed by the shutting of a door and the flapping of an umbrella being opened.

His head snapped to the right and there he spotted a lanky figure, clad in a beige coat that brushed at thin calves and a black scarf neatly knotted around a pale neck.

He blinked once, twice, and then the man finished tucking his umbrella's cover into one of the deep pockets on his side and began to walk his way, eyes hidden behind large sunglasses and shoulders slumped low.

It was an opportunity handed to him on a silver platter, a chance that Hyoseob had been waiting for but now felt too scared to take.

That man was surely Zion.T, the same person he had waited countless nights for, but could he simply approach him this way?

One of his hands dug into his jacket's pockets and grabbed hold of the plastic case, cold beneath his touch but heavy with his dreams.

"Kim Haesol!"

This time, the addressed man stopped mid-step, chin lifting and back straightening as Hyoseob assumed the eyes behind those lenses were meeting his. Snapping himself out of his own shock at the fact that he had just shouted out his idol's name, he jogged over to said man and gave a deep, sharp bow, both arms pressed to his side prior to him snapping back up and attempting a wavering smile.

"Kim Haesol, I'm a huge fan of yours," he began, and the man replied with nothing other than a meagre nod of the head and a minor curve in his lips. Guiding his attention away from the latter's mouth, which honestly was the only facial feature that could give the younger any indication of the artist's reaction, he strained his irises on the tinted lenses, his own eyes glittering with excitement and nerves.

"I like to sing, too. No, actually i-it's my dream to become a singer like you, and － and I'm good, really! So, uh. . ."

At that point, Hyoseob patted at his sides to remember on which he had stored the CD he had touched only moments ago, letting out a quiet exclamation upon feeling its shape through the material and fishing it out.

"This has some of the songs I've made on it," he explained, words cascading from his mouth in a mess of practiced syllables, "Please listen to it and tell me if y-you like them. Just a song or two. Please? Having your input would mean a lot and you could tell me whether I should let go of my dream or － or not."

There was a couple beats of silence, during which only the soft pattering of rain on Zion.T's umbrella could be heard, coupled with the erratic heartbeat of the tense but eager fan who stared at him earnestly.

Haesol's head slightly dipped, as if glancing at the disk case being handed to him, and then lifted once more to look at the shorter.

"You're soaking wet, you know that?"

It took Hyoseob some seconds to process the fact that he had been spoken to, and once he did, he took a peek down at himself to realise that the other was right. He shrugged and offered a quick smile, slowly urging his CD towards the singer.

"I'm hoping it's worth it."

Haesol reciprocated the smile and gave a proper nod, his free hand reaching out to take hold of the case and tuck it into his coat's pocket, the one without the umbrella case inside.

"I hope the same."

His speaking voice was as alluring as when he sang, Hyoseob realised, for his knees felt like jelly and his ears pricked hot. The effect this man had on others was astounding, uncommon and something that seemed purely natural for him.

"What's your name?"

Startled, Hyoseob fluttered his lashes and rid them of the water gathered on their tips.

"I'm Shin Hyoseob. I go by Crush," he replied, giving another small bow.

"Crush?" Haesol parroted, apparently amused by the stage name.

Hyoseob fervently nodded, hands clasped behind his back where his fingers were strung together.

"Yes, because I'll crush the competition and once you hear me sing, you'll have a crush on me."


	5. f̶i̶v̶e̶

Days and nights went by with no word from his idol. No email nor a phone call, not even an SMS. Hyoseob told himself that the artist must have been awfully busy, he was famous after all, but the anxiety was beginning to eat away at his confidence and he started to question the lengths he had gone to to try get his big break.

Was it worth it, all the sacrifices he made and all the work he put in? Was his music actually as good as he originally thought, or had he been delusional? Perhaps he had only succeeded in giving the man he admired a good laugh.

Such thoughts were inevitable and unforgiving, tormenting Hyoseob while he worked and while he ate, even more so before he slept.

It wasn't until he had almost fully surrendered to his destiny of failure that he awoke to find a new message in his inbox from an unknown address, sent at three in the morning and with the subject being his stage name.

His hands quivered as he opened the email and read it in an instant, his nostrils flaring as he sharply inhaled in shock.

_Good voice, good beats. Definitely lots of dedication. I'd love to hear more of you, Crush._

_\- Z.T_

The young adult could have screeched in sheer joy, for just as it seemed all hope was lost, his idol had come and saved the day.

Telling the news to his parents, they came off as dubious but supportive, his mother perhaps even a tad excited, and when Hyoseob managed to pass a variety of auditions for the same record label as Zion.T, and said person asked for him to duet with him in a song some months later, the entire family was over the moon.

No emotions they felt, however, could top those of Hyoseob, for it all felt like he had been flung into a virtual reality, where things were starting to go well for him, and it was far too good to be true.

Arriving at the company one afternoon, tense for he'd be seeing Zion.T again after quite a while, he stepped in and made his way to the studio the artist had told him to meet him at, at around four in the afternoon. It then being only ten past, Hyoseob began questioning whether he was too early or too late. What exactly did 'around four' mean?

Realising he had stopped at the studio's black door and remained staring at it with no apparent intention of opening it at all, he shook his head and then fixed his hair, taking deep breaths because everything would go well, surely. He had signed a contract with the label so he and Zion.T were technically colleagues now － though the latter was his senior.

Rolling his shoulders, he used any drop of courage he had and grabbed hold of the knob, turned it and stepped in.

The room was heavily shadowed, very few lights on and most belonging to recording equipment and so forth.

It took Hyoseob a couple moments of looking around to notice the presence of another person in the room, seated on a swivel chair and with his back facing the rookie.

"Good afternoon," Hyoseob greeted, stiffly bowing even though the other couldn't see him.

His words alerted the man of his arrival, and the former subsequently spun his chair to face him, a smile of recognition forming on his lips once he saw who had arrived.

"Hyoseob," the brunet stood upright, hands behind his back and eyes meeting the dark lenses aimed at him, "it's been a while."

Hearing his name leave the man's lips made Hyoseob's heart tremor, and he grinned, giddy and content as he walked further into the room and shook hands with the artist who had stood from his chair. Haesol's palm was warm, slender like the rest of his body, and Hyoseob found it difficult to let go, because he couldn't believe it was even happening.

Every time he came into contact with Haesol, it felt like a dream, the moment they parted being the moment he awoke, discontent at the conclusion of their time together. Even so, that day they should have been spending the entire afternoon － and perhaps even late into the night － recording his parts for the song and correcting what needed to be changed.

The older slid his hand away and offered a smile prior to turning and flopping back down into his seat, then pulling one off to his side, closer.

"Here," he said, gesturing from Hyoseob to the cushioned chair, "sit with me."

Hours went by and yet they felt like a mere one, no one coming to disturb them in their sanctuary of peace and music, where Hyoseob was honoured enough to have Haesol sing certain bits for him so that he could mimic his tone.

Maybe it was undeniable, the fact that whenever Zion.T opened his mouth and let free that voice which had accompanied Hyoseob through so many lonely nights and tranquil bus trips, through quiet rain and meek, sunny days, the latter would look upon him utterly enamoured, irises shining with admiration.

Hyoseob recognised these seedlings of emotions that were planting themselves within his chest, but for that moment in time he decided to ignore them, focus on learning from his idol and achieving his dream.

And, just as this new reality he was apparently in, promised luck with his success in the music industry, it also hid the present of love, boxed and tied with a pretty bow, simply waiting for the right time to unravel.


	6. s̶i̶x̶

Fame was a strange concept to comprehend, Hyoseob came to believe, for as soon as his song with Zion.T was released, his own name began to spread like fine sand in strong wind. People asked questions, praised him, critiqued him, expressed their wishes to hear more of him.

Hyoseob couldn't understand what had so drastically changed about him, enough that a good number of people began taking interest in him, but he surely wasn't complaining.

He was supposed to make his proper debut in a matter of months, the first after the failures of his previous attempts, and the past which hung over his head was as dangerous as any untamable beast.

Not doubting yourself was hard when you had failed times before, and eventually he had come to make Haesol aware of this, much to his embarrassment. And yet, the man acted as kindly as he could, considerate and supportive, picking up calls at four a.m. when Hyoseob couldn't sleep due to anxiety, and would stay out on the balcony of his new apartment smoking, and visiting him as often as possible, either at work or at his place.

Being in the pre-debut stage and with there still being a certain hype surrounding his name after his appearance on Zion.T's single, his company had made it a point for him to attend festivals and award shows, urging him to maintain the excitement and intrigue he had accumulated until he would release his album.

This meant however, that Hyoseob had to dress up and go to after-parties, be around countless strangers, most even famous, and not make a complete fool of himself. It terrified him and such events were definitely not his type of scene, especially as he felt out of place, being a rookie amongst renowned artists.

As it commonly turned out to be, Haesol understood this about him and would make him tag along to events and gatherings, and vice-versa, whispering words of comfort or advice in the shorter's ear with a faint brush of his lips against the latter's lobe.

The action never failed to make heat rise to Hyoseob's cheeks, painfully visible and at which he would clear his throat and lower his gaze, nodding to show he'd heard what he had been told.

The situation went on such a way until a month later. At yet another award show, where Zion.T had failed to win what he was nominated for, Hyoseob was impressed to see that it seemed his loss had no effect on his mood whatsoever. Haesol continued to smile and urge the younger to talk, pose for pictures － for which he insisted always having Hyoseob by his side, and then proceed to explain that the rookie would be debuting soon － and chatting amicably with producers and rappers, along with the occassional idol who would scurry towards him and bow as earnestly as Hyoseob had when he had first met the singer. Seeing such a scene for himself, made him think back at how far he had already come.

Camera lights were constantly flashing, their names being called over the fervent bustle of people, the energy in the air was tangible, but Hyoseob felt as though it were sucking all of his own.

When they finally made their way to the luxury car Zion.T and him had arrived in, the latter let out a ragged breath and flopped back onto the black leather seats, letting his eyes flutter closed and his muscles go lax.

The sound of Haesol shutting his door made him fix his position into one more decent though, bringing his legs together and moving further into his seat.

"You look worn out," Haesol commented with a slight chuckle, adjusting his suit jacket and proceeding to mimic the other's stance.

At the statement, Hyoseob gave a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose prior to dragging his palm down his face.

"Yeah. All that talk and bright lights gave me a headache," he confessed, "I don't know how you do it."

His senior gave a deep nod, long fingers reaching to lift his hat off his head, exposing his dyed blond hair styled into a gelled quiff which was combed back, sides left their original brown and shaved short.

"It's something you'll have to get used to, you know? It comes with the whole package of being an artist," he abruptly turned his attention from the hat on his lap to the man abreast him, tone suddenly serious, "If you really want to continue with music, this is the sort of life you must accept. You'll be appreciated but also disregarded, judged, and once you'll have money in your pockets you'll attract vultures. People you haven't spoken to in years will come to you as if they had never left your side, those who have known you for all your life will look at you differently, and others will try bringing you down."

Haesol seemed to hesitate for an instant and then his hand went to slide the bulky sunglasses from his nose, folding them and setting them upon his hat. Hyoseob watched his every move enraptured, and when they directly met eyes for the first time, his lungs felt short of air.

The man's eyes were small, dark, but they held a warmth and genuine concern that Hyoseob never thought he'd see.

"Once you get into this life, it's hard to leave. I'm not trying to scare you off, don't misunderstand, I just don't want you to regret your decisions."

Both of them had their heads directed at each other, Hyoseob's cheek pressing against the cold material of the seat, but he didn't dare move and was almost even reluctant to blink.

While the words of warning stirred something within him, the intensity of the man's stare brought more emotion to Hyoseob's heart, and he took the opportunity to admire the entirety of Haesol's face, imprinting it in his memory because he didn't know when he'd next get to see it.

"I'll learn to accept the noise and chaos, and I'll be careful of those who want to use me. I want nothing more than to do music in my life. After all the effort and sacrifices I have done to reach this point, nothing else will stop me."

The answer seemed to satisfy Haesol who, after a pregnant pause during which the only noises to be heard were their breaths and the hum of the engine, gave a bob of his head and faced forward once more.

Hyoseob noticed the older's hands twitching for his glasses and gripping them to pull at the stems, but Hyoseob didn't want him to hide away again just yet. He didn't get to see him for long enough, he couldn't just put his mask back on as if Hyoseob hadn't seen him at all.

And so, without his mind's consent, his own hand went to cover those of Haesol, stopping them from going any nearer to his face, and the contact brought their eyes to lock a second time, the latter's expressing surprise and the former's apprehension.

"Please, keep them off until I leave."

He hadn't meant to whisper it, for hearing his own plea it then felt to carry a certain weight to it he couldn't determine, and while his soft-spoken demand left Haesol taken aback, he eventually let his lips curl into a feeble smile, lowering his hands once more.

"Alright, if that's what you want."

Hyoseob cleared his throat, bashful all of a sudden, proceeding to take his hand away from the other's.

"Thank you."


	7. s̶e̶v̶e̶n̶

It had come, the day he had so longed for for years, the chance to redeem his past failed attempts and prove to everyone who doubted and even himself, that he was simply born for music. He was born to sing, be on stage, write words which would hold hostage the ears of his listeners. He was made for this, he knew it for certain, and yet, when his debut album was released that afternoon, he instantly turned off his phone's internet and went into hibernation within his apartment, locking the world out, afraid of possible impending disaster.

What if his songs weren't as good as he thought? Perhaps the melodies could have been better, the chords could have been more distinct in that one part, he could have sung that specific verse differently.

Of course, it was all too late to have such thoughts now and they were merely corrosive, eating away at the remains of his sanity. The nerves made him pace from one room to the next, flip from one TV channel to another, prior to getting up and organising his things, making himself a bowl of cereal and then abandoning it, until hours ticked by and he still had no clue how his work was being received by the public.

Night had come and settled, and he found himself out on his balcony, a lit cigarette between his lips and his home phone in hand as he dazedly watched the cars driving below.

The brisk breeze nipped at his skin and strongly contrasted with the heat in his lungs, his body clad in mere grey joggers and a black hoodie, along with mismatched socks on his feet.

Though he desperately wanted to know whether he had failed once more at achieving success, he also feared failure too strongly to go anywhere near his mobile, so he clutched the bulkier, wireless telephone as if it were his only anchor and debated on whether he should call Haesol or not.

There was no other way to describe the man's voice but as magical, soothing, because somehow, no matter how tense or stressed Hyoseob was, at the sound of the singer's meliflous reply, he'd melt into a puddle of undisturbed water, tranquil, serene, and he wasn't sure how else to describe it but as that.

As always, he caved into his desire and his thumb dialled the other's number by memory, hearing the confirmatory beep prior to it going through.

"Hyoseob?"

When Haesol answered the call, his words were hoarse, laced with drowsiness, and the younger felt a twinge of guilt within his chest, eyebrows quickly furrowing.

"Oh no, I'm sorry," he urgently apologised, keeping his tone soft so as to not bother the man on the line any further, "Did I wake you?"

There came a pause and then a sigh, concluded with a, "Would you believe me if I told you no?" to which Hyoseob gave a regretful smile.

"Not really, but I could pretend to, if you like?"

Haesol gave an amused scoff, and Hyoseob imagined him shaking his head. Moments later, some shuffling sounds and puffs of exhales could be heard through the speaker, and the brunet briefly pictured the man sitting up in his bed, hair ruffled and sleepwear wrinkled, his eyes half-closed with sleep.

"I had called and sent a message to you before, but you never replied."

The statement snapped Hyoseob out of his daze, coming to realise that whilst cutting himself off from everyone, he had cut off even Haesol, and then that twinge of guilt intensified.

"Right, I'm sorry about that. You see, I just. . ."

He wasn't sure how to finish his sentence. Admitting aloud that he was terrified of hearing any news connected to his album's release was embarrassing, and he couldn't find it in himself to confess such a thing with his own mouth.

And yet, of course, Haesol understood, and while there was another sound of movement, the older spoke.

"You're afraid to hear about the results?"

Hyoseob swallowed with great struggle, nodding his head but then realising that the other couldn't see him, and so he let out a hum.

"It's alright, you know, to be scared about something like this. If I'm being honest with you, I had felt the same way when I debuted."

The brunet found that hard to believe. The singer seemed so noncahalant about results and criticism, everything washing off his back as water on a duck's feathers does.

"Were you really?"

A pause.

"I was terrified."

The words were simple, the phrase short, but heavy with emotion and seriousness that made Hyoseob regret asking.

"Unlike you, I had no one guiding me, but likewise I had this goal of being an artist in my heart that could not be replaced by any other. Music was and is everything I love, and that got me through all the struggles and long nights of unrest."

"I － I see."

A beat of silence ensued, broken by the screeching of a car and a string of curses as a drunk staggered across the street below.

"Can I ask you something?"

Hyoseob wasn't certain where he got the courage to ask, but he wanted to know and at that point he hoped he and Haesol were as close as he felt them to be.

"Sure," the older murmured, not giving it any thought, "What's on your mind?"

"I was thinking last time that, well, how do I say this?" Hyoseob rested his forearm and elbow on the metal railing, chin nestled into the palm of his left hand, "You're handsome without your sunglasses on, so why do you always wear them?"

No response came for some seconds, and Hyoseob immediately anticipated the worst, assuming he had overstepped some unstated line or offended the man on the phone in some way.

Despite his worries, the first words to leave the older's lips were, "You think I'm handsome?"

Hyoseob flushed, felt the heat rising to his ears, and then turned an even more vibrant shade of red at the realisation.

"I just － I mean － You. . ."

A sudden chuckle came through the speaker, sleepy but mirthful, a melody that made Hyoseob's heart leap.

"I'm just messing with you," Haesol snickered, making a smile of relief form on Hyoseob's lips.

"Why are you so cute?"

It was a rhetorical question and the latter wasn't even sure he was meant to hear it as the other had merely mumbled it, almost in fond complaint, and the idea made that sensation of somersaults return to Hyoseob's stomach.

"And so you were thinking about something like this?" Haesol inquired, tone still airy, bringing the younger out of his daze, "Am I such a mysterious character?"

"You're certainly intriguing," Hyoseob affirmed, shifting his weight on one leg and crossing the other over it.

"When I first saw a performance of yours, you looked to be straight out of a nineteen-fifty, noir novel － not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. It's just that it's as if you're from another time, another place, and when I first saw you, you felt so far away."

"Do you think it's something negative, the fact that we seemed world's apart?"

His brow wrinkled, and then his sight lifted to the near-black sky, only partially shrouded with clouds whilst most stars remained glittering, shining around the sliver of moon he could see.

"Not really, at least, not for me, because now that I've met you it feels as if I'm living in a dream."

He was being unlike himself, so honest and open, but it was deep in the heart of night, when both of the men were caressed by sleep but neither caved into it.

"That's touching for me to hear. I never thought knowing me would feel such a way for you."

Their speaking had dwindled to hushed replies and soft breaths, a lingering sense of intimacy in the atmosphere as if they were in their own bubble.

"It does, and I'm very grateful for having met you and for you giving me a chance," Hyoseob hesitated, index finger itching at his cheek before he continued, "If it all works out and I'm able to live my dream, it'll be thanks to you."

A ruffle, perhaps the sound of a blanket.

"That's not true, Hyoseob. It will be thanks to your talent and effort. Don't demean everything you've done to reach this far, alright?"

Stumped for words, Hyoseob mumbled a response of agreement and the two fell into another moment of silence. Such times between them were rare, but when they came, they were never awkward or uncomfortable, more them simply being in one another's presence in some way, and even if all they could hear of each other was the occassional inhale and exhale, it was enough to not make them feel alone.

"You seem to think I'm not bothered by judgement, but the truth is that I am."

Hyoseob blinked, wondering where the older was taking the conversation with a light bewilderment painting his features.  
"I've made this persona, this other me who goes out on stage, interacts with other stars and takes pictures like it's nothing. I've made this other person take the applause and ignore the hate, but those remarks of disapproval are taken onto me myself. While Zion.T is uncaring, Kim Haesol is not, and I feel like my sunglasses at this point are a form of safety net. They're a mask that come along with Zion.T, and removing them in public would be like standing in the nude before a crowd. It's a horrible feeling of being exposed and vulnerable to hate, and so I leave them on, because in some way they have become a protective barrier for me."

"The truth is that I don't have many friends, being around lots of people makes me anxious, and I'm terribly shy when speaking with famous artists, while Zion.T is not. Zion.T is what I would like to be but can't, so I've made him exist in this world while I lay in the background."

There came a sigh, and then Haesol took a breath prior to speaking again.

"I've said a lot, I'm sorry."

Hyoseob shook his head, still attempting to process everything he had been told with his foggy mind.

"Please, don't be. I feel as if I've learned so much about you in a matter of minutes."

The older let out another peel of laughter, weary and timid, but with underlying contentment.

"You certainly know more about me than anyone else," Haesol stated, "I've never told anyone all this until now."

The concept made something flutter within Hyoseob's chest, and it became so evident to him that Haesol truly trusted him, and that it was something meaningful when he had taken his glasses off to speak with him, that time after the event.

"Thank you for trusting me so much."

"Thank you for being trustworthy."

Haesol moved in his bed, the noise reminding Hyoseob that he had woken him up in the middle of the night and should probably let him rest once more.

"I'll let you go back to sleep now," he spoke quietly, standing upright as his fingers grasped the railing, "Thanks for talking with me. I'm sorry for keeping you up."

"It's no problem, as long as you feel better."

"I do."

"That's good then," Haesol whispered, the sound of his head sinking into his pillow making Hyoseob fondly picture the scene.

"Try get some sleep, okay?"

He hummed, smiling.

"Okay. Goodnight, Haesol."

"Goodnight, Hyoseob."

And there their call ended, but the young man knew he wouldn't be able to sleep just yet, for while his anxiety had faded, his head was then full of thoughts about his senior, and he couldn't help but ponder about him as he lit another cigarette and took a long drag, this time admiring the sky instead of the ground beneath.


	8. e̶i̶g̶h̶t̶

As Haesol had warned him, his life had become hectic and chaotic the more his popularity increased. There were a higher number of events and award shows to attend, much to his displeasure, along with promotional perfomances and late-night gigs at bars, which refilled him with a spurt of energy and stoked the flame that was his passion.

Haesol would tag along whenever he could, cheer him on backstage, perhaps even sneak away with him through backdoors to have a smoke, and Hyoseob realised that with the older by his side everything was so much easier. With his idol giving warm words of encouragement and light pats on the back, lingering touches on his arms as he'd meet their gazes while peeking over the rim of his sunglasses, assuring him he was doing well yet also reminding him to not screw up anything too badly, Hyoseob found his nerves to subside and a strong desire to impress Haesol take their place.

It had been a mere seven weeks since his debut － which he was so grateful to see had gone well － and this meant his long nights out were not yet over and the adrenaline rush of his career kicking off had yet to fade completely.

Having to attend a celebratory party for another artist under his same record label to keep up his appearances, one weekend, Hyoseob could only wish to go home a scant number of minutes after having arrived at the club.

While the brunet did enjoy partying, drinking and all the possible things that could come along with it, the idea that he was under watchful eyes made him antsy, uncomfortable. Add such a feeling to those which bubbled within him when he saw Zion.T arriving, and you've got one hot mess of a man.

Hyoseob wasn't sure of how the other was capable of always looking impeccable and at ease, especially after thinking back to what the singer had confessed over the phone.

Could someone so confident, talented and popular, really be hiding a person of timid nature? Perhaps Hyoseob would have to squint to notice the signs, for he was certain that his colleague had well perfected the persona that is Zion.T.

Upon spotting him in the bustling crowd over the heads of possible producers or artists, Haesol lifted a hand in a quick wave and proceeded to excuse himself from their conversation, weaving his way through the people, hardly touching anyone at all.

"I wasn't sure you'd be coming tonight."

He had come to a stop before the booth occupied solely by Hyoseob, who had an open beer in hand and his back tensed straight.

"The company told me I should, and then I figured you'd be here so I decided it wouldn't be that horrible."

Haesol's lips curled as his head gave a dip and he slid off his over-sized suit jacket, then tossing it on a seat of the booth and proceeding to walk up to Hyoseob. The latter watched him, an abrupt rush of excitement coursing through his veins.

"I'll believe that you came for me then," the older stated airily, while dropping down into the spot abreast Hyoseob with a sigh.

_You wouldn't be wrong._

Of course, the brunet didn't speak it aloud, but when the thought crossed his mind he felt as bashful as he would have if he _had_ uttered it, and he turned his gaze to the beer in his grip.

"How long have you been here for, for you to be already drinking?"

Hyoseob shifted his sight to the bemused expression of the singer, and upon seeing the smile which had yet to fade, he wished to see the mirth that was likely twinkling in the other's dark eyes.

"I've actually only been here for like, ten minutes, but it's never too early to drink," Hyoseob wiggled the bottle between them and Haesol gave a chuckle with a shake of his head as the younger then took a swig of the alcohol.

"I assume you haven't bothered to speak with anyone?"

"You assume correctly."

"But why? You know it's beneficial to interact with the people here."

Hyoseob paused, contemplating whether he should be honest or not before settling on being so and fiddling with his drink, shy.

"It's not as easy when you're not next to me, is all."

There was a break of silence, Haesol seemingly mulling over the words with a bleak expression, prior to the return of his grin.

"How about I join your lonesome drinking party then? You'd look like a loser if a stranger saw you right now, drinking in a corner of a club all alone."

"Sure. Two is better than one, and if you're the second it's even better."

Perhaps that was layed on a bit thick, but Haesol didn't seem to mind for he let out a snort, his lips parting to show his over-bite, and even at the sight of the imperfection Hyoseob found him to be incredibly attractive.

He noted with surprise that the older's ears had turned a pink strong enough to show in the dim lighting, and a sense of pride washed over him, giving him a sudden spur of confidence which made him move to the edge of his seat, set his bottle down on the low table, and then place a palm on the part of Haesol's inner left knee. The latter gave a small jolt at being startled and looked to the other with a fading breath trickling from his lips.

Hyoseob offered a smile and gave a pat to his leg, and then more than before he wished he could have seen the expression in the singer's eyes. He hoped he wasn't being too forward, but until then Haesol hadn't seemed to mind his behaviour.

"I'll go get the alcohol."

"Not － Don't get too much," the blond responded, slightly fumbling his words, "I'm a lightweight."

Hyoseob grunted, moving to stand up and glance down at the other, who continued to watch him from below through his lenses.

"I won't," he assured, patting his pockets to find his wallet in one of them.

"Don't worry."

Unlike Hyoseob, it appeared Haesol was true to his words, for after an hour or two of rhythmically sipping at his glass filled with various drinks of different strengths, the blond began to stutter his words, giggles mixing amidst them and some just left hanging in the air with no meaning.

Hyoseob himself was tipsy, but not as much as the other who was near being drunk. He enjoyed watching the way Haesol acted for a while, for his expressions were exaggerated and his responses less well-formulated than usual but more direct, and yet his state began to be an issue when rather than falling against the booth's back or flopping to the free seat beside him, he'd lean on Hyoseob, breathe heavily against his neck while mumbling about a conspiracy theory television show he had seen some nights ago.

It became an issue, because apparently Haesol was touchy when under the influence of alcohol and it made Hyoseob flustered, his ears a vivid fuchsia and cheeks a similar tint.

Eventually, he stopped pouring them drinks as he wasn't sure whether or not Haesol had to wake up early the next morning, and didn't want him to suffer if so. Thus, after coaxing the other into standing and draping his jacket over his small shoulders, he decided to lead them out from the back door where there would be less people, stopping by the bar to get a tall glass of water beforehand.

Once they stood outside, the chill of the air seemed to snap him fully out of his inebriation and have a similar effect on Haesol, who leaned back against the brick wall of the alley and crossed his arms over his chest to keep warm.

Hyoseob had momentarily forgotten about the glass he had gotten for the other, and blinking his sight away from the man to the drink he held, he walked closer and urged it to him.

"Here, drink it and you'll feel better."

Nodding his head, Haesol obediently took hold of the cool liquid and chugged it down, regretting it for a few moments after when a wave of nausea hit him, but thankfully it passed with no trace.

"Thank you," he murmured, staring down into the bottom of the glass in a daze, seeing how his pricey shoes looked strange through it.

"No problem. I hope you don't have work tomorrow."

"Only in the afternoon, but I'll be fine. I'm not that drunk."

Bobbing his head, Hyoseob went to join the other against the wall, and stared at the adjacent one with little to no interest.

For some reason, he felt nervous, as if something were going to happen or he had done something wrong. It was a feeling akin to that of knowing you didn't do your homework and waiting for your teacher to call you for it. Since when was he a child again, anxious about nothing other than being alone with someone?

Perhaps this was because he wasn't alone with just _anyone_, but Zion.T, his idol, a famous singer in the industry, renowned nationally as a unique artist. But it wasn't that either, for he wasn't with _Zion.T_, a star. No, he was with _Kim Haesol_, an introverted, lanky man who he was foolishly harbouring feelings for.

"Hyoseob, about － about tonight,"

Hyoseob stiffened upon hearing the slurred words, fists tightening in his jacket's pockets as he imagined the possible outcomes this conversation could lead to.

"I was just thinking. . . I want to tell you that － No no, I mean, I want to ask you a question."

The brunet nodded, blinking down at a tearing garbage bag a scant number of metres to his right. It seemed Haesol had come to notice it too, and upon giving a brief look around and scrunching his nose in disapproval, he sighed.

"Can we get out of this place?"

It was abrupt and Hyoseob was taken off-guard, having already sunk into his thoughts and worries.

"Huh? Sure," he pushed off from the wall and carefully took the glass from the older, "I'll go return it."

He scurried away before Haesol could reply and was back in a matter of minutes, pulling open the hefty door with such force that the older jumped away, frightened by the noise.

"Let's go to the main street," He instantly said, avoiding eye-contact with the other, who missed the minor detail.

Keeping pace with the brunet's speedy steps while the world was still spinning around him was hard, but he supposed it would be more embarrassing if he asked for help to walk rather than doing it by himself.

When they exited from the alley, Haesol's ears finally accustomed to the lower volume of the night, cars driving past and muffled talking still loud, but the blasting music of the club now just a clear hum in the back of the scene.

"What did you want to ask? Are you feeling like you're going to puke or what?"

Haesol gave a shake of his head, and then recalled what he wanted to say and felt a twitch in his chest.

"I don't want to upset you in any way but I'm not sure I should ignore it so, maybe it's better if I bring it up."

Hyoseob arched a brow at the vague reference and attempted steadying his heartbeat.

"I'm getting the idea that you － that you like me, alright? Not just from tonight but － when we're, well, together. Now, if I'm wrong, I'm really sorry. If I'm not, then there's something I need to tell you."

He didn't want to get his hopes up, he didn't.

Hyoseob wanted to completely ignore everything and pretend the topic never arose, that he never had said what he did or fondly stared as he had. But Haesol didn't come off as upset nor uncomfortable, but rather shy and bashful, still occassionally swaying which made Hyoseob unsure whether the flush on the taller's cheeks were caused by the alcohol or something else.

The lack of a negative aura along with Hyoseob's honesty, brought him to replying genuinely albeit apprehensively.

"What if I told you that you're not wrong?"

He had whispered it but it was there, out in the open, spoken, and for an instant he scolded himself for saying the truth. His reply brought Haesol to raise his brows until they dropped not long after, and his skin looked to glow brighter.

Seconds had passed until there was finally movement from either of them, and it was when Haesol craned his neck to see if they were being watched, confusing Hyoseob who thought he had spotted someone familiar nearby.

The action was followed by Haesol falling stiff, then sliding off his sunglasses － much to Hyoseob's astonishment － and diminishing the space between them.

"Then. . ."

He didn't finish his sentence, for his eyes, hazy but determined, were strained on Hyoseob's mouth and the latter got an indication of what was to come. The idea was tempting, exciting, and so when Haesol began to dip forward he met him half way, causing their lips to meet in a chaste kiss.

It was warm, delicate, and Haesol's lips felt to be made of rose petals, hardly moving against Hyoseob's own fuller ones.

A soft exhale and they reluctantly parted, Hyoseob noticed the hand that hardly held onto his arm as he he gazed into Haesol's eyes, both in a mix of shock and contentment, smiles spreading across their expressions.

"I have to tell you that I like you too."


	9. n̶i̶n̶e̶

Like vines intertwined together, Haesol and Hyoseob were inseparable. The way they hardly ever went somewhere without the other had become somewhat of a running joke amidst their colleagues and friends, who often teased them for acting like a married couple stuck in the honeymoon phase.

Of course, only a select few knew of the true nature of their relationship, but the light teases by those who were unaware never made either of them antsy.

Hyoseob had adjusted to the new lifestyle faster than the older had anticipated, and whenever he'd see the brunet freely chatting with stars and producers, an immense pride would bloom within him.

Haesol was not much one for going out of the house, if not for performances and events he needed to attend as Zion.T, and Hyoseob soon learned that the man had the habit of incubating himself within his apartment, cut off from the rest of the world － this excluding the latter, obviously － quite often.

It amused Hyoseob, really, even made him blush at times, when he'd hear others complain about how Haesol would disappear and not reply to any of their calls or messages, occassionally even for days, when he'd respond to Hyoseob's texts in no less than three hours, and their calls late into the night continued to be a common occurrence.

Perhaps Haesol was a tad unique even characteristically, his mannerisms and behaviour intriguing and mainly like of some hermit, hiding away in the confines of his home with melodic beats twirling in the air along with the fumes of his cigarettes, as he'd lie on the couch and watch his fingers dance above him or scribble words of musical poetry which sparked at the tip of his tongue.

Hyoseob loved him as he was, and whilst he never forced him to change, Haesol certainly began to go out more with time, and even started making a group of friends, a feat everyone at the record label congratulated Hyoseob for.

They'd spend many nights simply in one another's presence, making music or doing nothing more than cuddling on a shared sofa while watching re-runs of shows － except for when the other was occupied with work which was, unfortunately, the case that night.

Haesol had the terrible habit of not keeping track of time, especially when getting absorbed in whatever he happened to be doing. In this case, he had spent until deep into the night in the studio, writing and creating the skeletal frame of the song's tune. He wasn't certain what hour a clock would be reading nor whether he had eaten anything after breakfast that morning, but when he finally sloshed back into his chair with a sigh, one hand pinched the bridge of his nose while the second fetched his phone which had been laying tossed aside for hours.

It was just slightly past midnight apparently, and he had a handful of unread messages from some friends, and four from Hyoseob. Opening up the latter's, he skimmed through them and replied, followed by an apology and an explanation of why he had taken long.

Haesol paused, furrowing his brow in thought as he swiped his tongue over the braces he had gotten a number of months ago, wondering if there was any place to eat at so late.

Deciding on going to a small, fast food chain establishment he knew would be open, he plucked up the courage － yes, he still got shy when asking to meet his boyfriend for anything not business related － and suggested them going to grab something to eat together, maybe even go on a walk afterwards.

Haesol had stared at the screen until a reply popped up mere seconds later, causing him to startle and his eyes to widen, blinking rapidly at the white light he now realised was far too bright in comparison to the darkness of the studio.

_s_ _ure !! sounds good babe _

_y__ouget to watch me shove my face _  
_while im still half in my pyjamas ;)_

The blond snorted, fondly rereading the words before typing out his response and moving to stand, far too eager to see the other now that Hyoseob had said yes.

They had been dating for approximately three years, and while they had had their ups and downs as any relationship does, Haesol was utterly smitten for the man and he hoped Hyoseob truly felt the same.

Hyoseob wasn't as timid as he had first appeared to be, but then again, Haesol had found him at a time when he was most delicate, a string of failures dragging behind him like tin cans upon rough ground, loud and making their existence known. He did still panic easily though, fretting over the smallest of issues, and the older saw it as adorable, albeit stressful.

Haesol had also come to learn that Hyoseob was less organised than himself, tossing an item of clothing one place and the following one in another, and he also seemed to enjoy attending parties and shows a lot more than before, something astounding to Haesol, honestly, for the man who used to cling to his side when making appearances now walked freely and let his personality shine, attracting people to him like bees to nectar.

He wouldn't say he missed it, but there were moments he would feel nostalgic about the early months of Hyoseob's fame, back when the latter was akin to an apprehensive puppy, trailing him as if he were on a leash and looking at him as if he held the knowledge of the world.

Never mind that, however, for these years had passed and they both had changed for the better, Haesol believed, and while spritely walking along the vast hallways of the company building which remained mostly in silence, save for the occassional music wafting in the air from around some corner, his heart matched the beat of his quick steps, excited.

It had been no more than a day since he had seen the young artist, but it had been nearly a week since they had gone out to spend time together and he missed simply feeling as if their relationship weren't hidden from the rest of the world, a great secret that remained barricaded by stone walls and iron doors, but that of a normal couple, two average men on a typical date, simply talking about what came to mind and laughing at bad jokes.

He longed for those few minutes they could hold hands whilst walking along a street, for when he didn't put on his obtrusive sunglasses and dressed casually, hardly any people seemed to recognise him as the famous singer he was. He liked to compare his situation to the one of Superman; no one being able to notice that Clark Kent was the hero they all adored, simply because he wore glasses. Unfortunately for Haesol though, he didn't have superhuman powers and the whole masking-himself-by-not-wearing-sunglasses wasn't a foolproof plan, for some fans occassionally recognised him no matter what he wore.

There was more traffic on the city streets than he had previously calculated, and the thought that perhaps Hyoseob had already arrived at their meeting spot and was left waiting made the blond incredibly anxious.

If there was something he truly detested, it would be being tardy to dates, because heaven knew that Hyoseob's pout would disappear at the arrival of his boyfriend and he'd say it was alright after teasing him for being late, but Haesol was left feeling guilty and the sensation burned like acid down his throat.

At nearly twenty to one in the morning, he successfully parked his car in the lot adjacent to the establishment and speed-walked his way to the door, pushing it open and snapping his head in all directions in attempt of spotting his partner seated at one of the vacant tables.

His eyebrows furrowed at the lack of the younger's presence, but he also let out a sigh of relief, for it was better if _he_ waited rather than vice-versa.

Choosing a spot just one table away from the corner, some good distance separating him from the two workers he could see sitting behind the counter, Haesol sat as silently as he could in one of the off-white plastic chairs, its metal legs giving out a low screech as they glided over the chequere tiled floor.

A sigh left his lips, perhaps the first sound to leave him that day which wasn't a lyric to his latest track, and he adjusted the round-frame glasses on his nose, his eyes longing for the blackness of his typical sunglasses' lenses in the presence of the luminous interior of the building, in place of these translucent ones.

It was then, when a handful of minutes had passed, that he heard something ticking. Incessant, constant, a soft noise that consistently grew louder the more time went on.

Was it perhaps a bomb?

No, it was echoing within his heated ears, pulsating through his countless veins, twitching beneath his skin. A heartbeat.

He was nervous, nimble fingers fidgeting with the sweater paws of his knitted cardigan, long enough to surpass his pale knuckles and thick enough to keep him warm. His knee had begun bouncing too, the heel of his right sneaker irritably tapping on the floor.

Haesol was a man of a few words and equally few friends, for off the stage he made his life, and stripped of his persona, he was timid and introverted, a dreamer of finding those emotions he himself described in his songs but never got to experience.

That was who he was some years ago.

Now, that version of himself was lost in the past, set on a distant shelf, finely coated in a light layer of dust yet still existent in the library of his mind.

Haesol had changed, grown, learnt new things and experienced what he wanted to so hungrily, and it was thanks to that one meeting, beneath the delicate fall of rain and made eerie by the settling darkness of the night, that he was able to do so.

That ever-present sound was still there, pestering him, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it, lest his heart itself stopped beating, and he sincerely hoped it wouldn't at a time such as that.

He hoped he wasn't too late, and he hoped the other would come, for his melodies would remain half complete, bare, without the addition of those of his love.

"Whow, you're here? My bad, I came late 'cause I figured you would get caught up in work for a while longer."

Hyoseob must have arrived while the older was staring at his own hands clasped upon the table-top, for there he stood, hair a bird's nest, face puffy with sleep, and an over-sized hoodie tossed over what seemed to be a white vest, paired with loose, grey joggers and slip-on sandals, his feet adorned by fluffy, striped socks inside.

Haesol smiled in relief, followed by a sense of endearment for the younger who gave a small bow in apology.

"I hope you didn't wait too long."

The brunet proceeded to pull out the chair opposite his boyfriend, the latter pulling his interlocked hands up and placing them beneath his chin, grin still present.

"I'd wait forever for you, Seob."

Said man cringed, laughing at the response he had received to his statement of genuine concern.

"That was too cheesy, love."

Haesol's skinny frame shook with a chuckle, his petite form hunched as he burrowed his muffled hands between his thighs.

"It was, sorry," he lightly spoke, eyes following those of the other, whose gaze had settled upon his mouth, "The opportunity was there, so I had to take it."

Giving a nod, Hyoseob's sight lifted to meet Haesol's just before he rose a palm to cup the latter's face and bring their lips together in a sweet kiss, the action well-recognised by their bodies who did it often enough to have each muscle movement down to memory.

They parted and Haesol watched as Hyoseob smiled, and he thought back to how the man had looked when the older had first seen him smile.

_Still looks like a pleased puppy. _

"The opportunity was there, so I had to take it."

Haesol snorted, gently nudging the delicate touch away from his face with his chin.

"And you said I'm cheesy."

"I guess we'll be a cheese sandwich together."

**Author's Note:**

> thanks a lot for reading!


End file.
